


My Love Language

by aijouu



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Germany, M/M, Meet-Cute, No Dialogue, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:27:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26132665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aijouu/pseuds/aijouu
Summary: Just a wholesome challenge oneshot I did with teaswt; I take requests by the way! ♡
Relationships: Levi/Erwin Smith
Comments: 15
Kudos: 27





	My Love Language

**Author's Note:**

  * For [teaswt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/teaswt/gifts).



Being a hyperpolyglot, many people have asked me how I’m capable of learning so quickly, adapting without pause, memorizing every word and its correct pronunciation, and then being able to differentiate languages that are so alike. To put it simply; the best, and most efficient way to study, and learn languages isn’t from an app, or a textbook, or a class. The easiest way to learn and master a language is to take a trip to the country where it is used the most, immerse yourself without preparation, and slowly, with time, fluency will come with ease. I, myself, speak many languages; Japanese, Mandarin, Spanish, French, English, ASL, Russian, Portuguese, and many others and I’ve been to the countries in which those tongues are the most native to.

But, for now, I want to tell you how I mastered the German language.

I was twenty-eight at the time, and though I warn you that it isn’t wise to travel alone, I’ve done it so much where I’ve become comfortable being anywhere as long as it was located somewhere on the globe. In addition to learning languages, discovering the culture behind them, and deepening my overall knowledge and understanding was something I adored most of all and so, as I walked down the street market in Munich, I lifted my sunglasses, and my eyes latched onto one, specific booth. I’ve never seen apples so red, or watermelons so green, or strawberries, blueberries, blackberries, and raspberries so big, and plump, and I wasted no time in making my way over the vendor.  I knew a decent amount of the language due to just, common knowledge. I knew how to say hello, and goodbye, thank you and you’re welcome and that sort of thing but, like always, I figured that today I’d learn how to ask how much something was and so, as I made my way up to the booth and stood in front of it, I reached in my pocket for my wallet. The man who owned the booth seemed to be organizing a couple of crates behind it, and he hadn’t noticed my presence yet and though I know it isn’t polite to stare, as I waited, I couldn’t help myself.

We were in the middle of August so, autumn, if not winter, was coming, but the richness of his skin told me otherwise. His skin was fairly tan, a few shades darker than mine, telling me that he spent most of his time out here, in the sun. His hair was made of pure, genuine strands of gold and it made no sense to call it blond with the way it gathered light and it wasn’t until he stood up straight, and notice me, and look at me, did I find how tall he was, how broad he was, how much larger he was than I, and how bright his eyes were, and I then realized that I’ve never seen anyone like him. I’ve been to America. I’ve seen tall, muscular men with blue eyes and blond hair but this was otherworldly.  The man who stood in front of me had long hair, that when let out, was undoubtedly down to his shoulders but, for now, it was tied into a messy knot at the back of his head, keeping it out of the way. The few flyaways that escaped his hair tie held a curl, and as my eyes cascaded down to his face, I made more discoveries. His eyebrows were thick, darker than the hair on his head, but, slightly kept. His nose was long, narrow, and I could tell that if he were showing me his side profile, it would jut out. His top and bottom lips were a pink, fleshy tone and of equal thickness but, the eyes that looked at me were unusual.

They were blue, and as a blogger, I should be able to find more synonymous words to describe their exact shade but, there was no exact shade. It sounds unorthodox but, as I told you I’ve never seen a man like the one I was looking at, but I felt as though I’ve known his eyes my entire life. His irises looked.. smooth. They looked serene, gentle, calm, and aware and I felt as though I was prying with the way I was looking right through him and so, I quickly averted my gaze to the many rows of apples before me, and pointed at them, before looking back up at him. I searched for a word in my head, trying to make an attempt at telling him what I wanted. 

Buy, perhaps? Cost, maybe? Purchase? Amount? How much?

These were all English words, as English was my first language but, he understood me, somehow. From his perspective, he was a vendor trying to sell apples and I was a man standing in front of him trying to buy the apples I pointed to and while my mouth went in circles trying to conceive a single syllable, he managed to put two and two together.

He held both of his hands up and put up ten fingers. Prior to realizing the calluses on his weathered hands, I thought that he thought I wanted to buy ten apples. I shook my head, feeling the temperature of my face rise not because of the heat of the sun but because of my own embarrassment. I started to panic, which was odd because I’ve done things like this on many occasions and I’ve never had a reaction like this but, I waved both my hands; signaling that I didn’t want ten, and putting up a single finger, I silently told him I wanted one. Just one. Only one.  The man nodded, he put up ten fingers, took them all away, then put up one.

Eleven. He thought I wanted eleven apples.

I shook my head again, this time putting up two hands, each holding one finger, and then the man blinked, seeming like he got the message I was trying to transmit from my head to his and as he put both of his hands up, with all of his fingers, and flashed them twice.  _ Twenty _ . He thought I wanted twenty apples, and it was my fault and my mistake for putting up two hands to begin with and it didn’t take long for dread to fill my body. I waved my hands and shook my head in unison, clearing our minds again. I raised my left hand and made a circular o-shape, then I raised my right hand and put up one finger; to me it looked like ‘01’, but to him it looked like ‘10’, and as he lifted ten fingers again, my fear and stress levels skyrocketed. 

I just wanted an apple. I’ve been standing here making a fool of myself for all of five minutes and I couldn’t even buy myself an apple. I didn’t want to give up and at the time I didn’t want to walk away empty-handed but, I heard laughter; a deep, full-bodied laugh that came from the man’s chest as he smiled at me, and that was when I knew. He was messing with me. He knew I was a foreigner and he knew I wasn’t from here and he was giving me a hard time on purpose for his own amusement and he knew exactly what I wanted this whole  _ fucking  _ time and though I wanted to cuss him out for it, I didn’t have any German swear words in my vocabulary.

He reached out. He reached out, and lifted an apple from his own booth, and set it in the palm of my hands, and then, he made o-shapes with both of his hands, and with a smile, he winked at me, and I got the message. It was free. He was giving me this apple for free but, as payback for what he’d done to me, I took out my wallet, and within an instant, I watched  _ him _ , start waving his hands. He kept trying to tell me that he didn’t want me to pay or that I didn’t have to pay but as I pretended not to understand, and kept pulling out more and more bills every time, pretending that I thought he was trying to tell me a single apple was worth more than twenty euro banknotes, I watched him become more and more flustered, and then eventually, I gave into my laughter, and he gave into his.

I have never seen this man until today and he has never seen me until just now and somehow, we managed to make each other laugh, without a word, without a joke, without a punchline. 

It was like I knew him and he knew me. I could tell that he knew exactly why I toyed with him, and I could tell that he knew it was revenge for what he’d done to me moments ago and I could tell that he thought it was fair and that we were equal and as he folded his arms, he stared down at me, with a grin that only grew more handsome by the second.

From that day on, I always visited his booth, and he always gave me an apple that he refused to let me pay for. I knew he was a farmer, if how good his apples and various fruits wasn’t enough of a hint. No matter how early I woke up, he was always there before me; packing out crates of oranges, organizing rows of pears, making small bundles of cherries and as time went on, I grew close to him, without speaking a word to him.  I stuck with him all day, normally until the sun began to set. I spoke English and he didn’t and so, I helped other tourists like myself buy from his booth. Every apple was worth a euro, every pear was worth two, and every bunch of cherries was worth three and then, one day, at the end of the day, as he started to pack up and unfold his booth, he handed me a few bills. I stared them, and then I looked up at him, and I knew that he wanted to pay me for being a sort of translator for him and even though I shook my head, he nodded with a smile, and got back to packing any unsold fruit into their rightful crates that I assumed he would carry back to the place in which he lived.

I didn’t know what to do, really.

I never did this. I never went to a country and made friends. I acquired groups, yes, people like me who were also not from the country I visited. I went and got drinks with them and talked with them and laughed with them but, when it was time for me to go home, I never saw them again, and I liked it that way but, I knew that this was different. It wasn’t different because he’d given me free apples or because he’d given me money I knew I didn’t deserve or need or want but, it was different because I didn’t want to go home without knowing him, and knowing more of him.

I tapped on his shoulder just as he was about to lift another crate, and as he looked at me, I handed his money back. I did nothing but glare at him, with narrowed eyes, furrowed eyebrows, and crossed arms, and without sound, I let him know and made it fairly obvious that if he wanted to pay me, and if he wanted me to take his money, I’d have to work for it, and I will never forget the smile on his face or the chuckle he let out after I stood my ground. I helped him load the crates onto the back of his vehicle and after sitting myself in the passenger seat of his noisy, but, comforting diesel-powered truck, I was amazed at how much I managed to learn about him in the days that followed.

He took me to his ranch, and I never went back to the city, after that.

He owned land and acres as far as the eye could see, and he didn't have neighbors. He took me on a walk of sorts, and I discovered something new, and something new about him. His land was scored and measured into nine equal parts, like a tic-tac-toe board, and he set hammered handmade picket fences to divide each square from the next, and make it easier to move plants around every season, to nourish the earth year after year. In one square, he kept all of his root vegetables; carrots, potatoes, ginger, and radishes. In another, he kept his bush-like, shrub type of crops; sweet peppers, and cucumbers. In the next, he had his vine plants; tomatoes, squash, and pumpkins. In the following one held plots of berries, and entire bottom row was dedicated to his lemon trees, apple trees, plum trees, and any plant that grew taller than him. The largest square was given to his animals, home to his horses, pigs, chickens, and cows and then, with a single glance, the work began.

He pointed to weeds, showing me what they looked like and both of us got on our hands and knees and took the time, scouring all of his land, and ridding of every, single, vile, and malicious pest. Later we went to the chicken coop, and after screaming from having been viciously attacked by a mother hen, he laughed at me, even though I had been mortified. He sat me down on a stool, taught me how to milk cows and as I stepped in something I thought was mud, but was maybe something else, I settled on the fact that maybe it was best I didn’t know what it was, otherwise, I may have vomited. He took me to the stables in which he kept his horses, and after brushing them, and admiring them, he taught me how to ride one, however, it took a few falls and tumbles but, I was helped up with a smile, and I stood back up, with a laugh. We filled the half-full crates that he had carried home back up, as he’d take those same crates back and try to sell the fruits inside tomorrow, and it had only been a day but now, the sun was falling, and the sky was getting darker.

Stars and fireflies illuminated the space around us, and with the soft sound of wind, and crickets, and other nighttime insects, I didn’t hear a dog bark, or a car beep, or the noise of another human being but him. We got down in the dirt, as if he and I weren’t covered in enough. After a few non-verbal lessons on how to pick, harvest, plant, and tend to all of his crops, he knelt beside me, dirtying his clothes some more in the same way I had, as now, his hands cupped mine as we encapsulated a seed with dirt so that it could sprout, at a later time, with tender love and care.

I wondered how a lone man like him was able to manage so much, and as I lifted my hand, in favor of holding his, turning it over, and looking at his palm, I knew he could bear it without difficulty even though it seemed impossible and then, he told me something. He said something, not with his eyes, or his hands, his thoughts, but with his mouth, and he spoke his first and only word to me, that day.

That word was Erwin, and it was his name.

I looked at him, still holding his hand in my hands, and told him my name, and without a smile, or a laugh, or even a chuckle, he stood up and offered a hand to help me up, and as I folded my fingers within the warmth of his palm and thumb, I took it, and I didn’t look back as he led me elsewhere.  It was dim and dark, and in any normal situation or circumstance, I would have been terrified. I was traveling alone in a different country that I didn’t know a single word of the common tongue of and a stranger who I met only weeks ago took me to his house and was now leading me deep into a forest but, as he held my hand, and was mindful of the branches that I would have otherwise walked right into, I listened to the sound of gentle waters, and as his arm paved the way for me, my eyes opened to behold a stream.

It was a large stream, with running water, surrounded by rocks that have been smoothed out over the years and between two trees was a clothesline, where his clothes were drying out, and his towels hung, and thinking about it, he’d never received a phone call. He never texted anyone, never messed around on his phone, and I was sure he didn’t have a phone let alone any sort of modern technologically even though he had the means for it and with that, I was able to puzzle together that he wouldn’t have necessities that were deemed common; a shower, and bathtub, being two of them.

He’d let go of my hands moments ago, and was currently undressing. His back was facing me and something told me that he was only posed that way out of decency, but, I didn’t care. He lifted his shirt off and over his head, giving me permission to analyze the back that hauled soil and dirt to and from the proper places as he set his shirt on a boulder that was closest to the stream. I watched his shoulder blades as they shifted, his fingers undoing his pants before stepping out of them, setting them in the same place where his shirt was and as he slid out of his undergarments, and pulled the elastic band out of his hair and set it around his wrist, he lowered himself into the stream in silence and though he stood the way he was before to give me a sense of privacy, I never started to undress until he turned around, and looked at me.

He waded in the water, watching me as I stepped out of my shoes, unbuttoned my blouse, unzipped my jeans, pulled down my briefs to where they pooled around my ankles and his eyes never left mine as I toed into the water, to join him.

The water wasn’t cold, and neither was the air on my sweat and dirt-covered skin. I stood in front of him, and he stood in front of me, and it was the first time I’d seen a man semi-naked and the first time I’d been without clothing in front of anyone but, I liked it, because I was comfortable, because I was safe, because I didn’t have to say anything to be understood.

Because Erwin was with me.

Nothing happened that night simply because nothing was supposed to happen. I expected nothing from him, he expected nothing from me, but the more I stared, and the more he gazed, I came to the realization that I was an unknown creature to him, just as he was a rare specimen to me. We came from two separate parts of the world. We had different skin tones, different eye colors, different height, different nose bridges, different cultures, but then, right then, in that very moment, the thing that mattered most was that if one of us said something, the other would have no idea what was being said or what we meant, and that fact in itself was beautiful.  It became clear that neither of us had this kind of bond with anyone, being able to talk to someone without opening our mouths, say what we wanted with eyes alone, and it felt ethereal. What sealed it was that I wanted to splash him right in the face, pretend I was prudent and that he shouldn’t be staring at a naked man like that and act offended but, he beat me to the punch, and winked at me as I gasped, and after that, we nearly drowned each other.

After washing our clothes and hanging them on the line to dry, Erwin handed me a towel and fashioned me the most glamorous pair of shoes I would ever own. They were made out of catalpa leaves, and succeeded in keeping my feet clean as we paced back to his home and again, all I could do was look around.  He built his home, that I knew, but it wasn’t an insult by any means, I was just impressed. Erwin wasn’t one of those annoying environmental people who stress the fact that they’re vegan and that everyone should monitor and be concerned about their carbon footprint but, at the same time, I could tell that he lived off of the land, and chose to live that way not because he was raised to, but because he wanted to. He didn’t have a television, he didn’t have a cellphone, and I knew without a doubt that catching a trace of wifi would be nearly impossible. The only manmade objects he had in his home was his refrigerator, his toilet, and his toilet paper. Otherwise, if he wanted something, he’d build it, sew it, make it, grow it, weld it, carve it, or mold it with the help of his pottery wheel, all with his own hands.

He led me to his bedroom, the wooden floor and walls making subtle noises that were a result of age on the way but, he gave me clothes, and I thanked him with a smile. Despite everything that I learned and all the firsts I’d experienced in today alone, I wasn’t at all daunted that I’d be sharing a bed with him. In fact, I  _ wanted _ , him to sleep beside me. I wanted to burn him into my memories, just so I could tell myself and remind myself that this wasn’t a pipe dream no matter how much it felt like it. Erwin struck a match, lighting the candles on each of the stands beside his bed before pinching the flame of the match out. He sat down on the left side of the bed, I sat down on the right; we lifted the blanket and tucked our feet beneath it in unison, and we slept facing each other, and still, I’m unable to recollect a moment where I’ve felt more at home, and before I could even begin to think that night, he closed his eyes, and I shut my own, and we went to sleep.

I slept heavily that night, between the wool sheets, sheepskin blankets, cotton stuffed pillows and mattress and waking up the very next morning, I wasn’t at all surprised to see that Erwin was no longer beside me and that his body had been replaced with a plate holding two pieces of toast, one slathered with butter, and one smothered with jam, along with some scrambled eggs, and bacon, all from the animals I’d accidentally tormented yesterday, and from the man who I’d met weeks ago.  I sat up, taking the plate into my lap and there is nothing more satisfying than taking a bite of warm, crisp, fresh-baked bread that was made with natural, organic ingredients, experienced hands, a generous heart, and immense patience. I would have fallen back to sleep if it weren’t for the noise I’d heard, and getting out of bed, following my ears, I walked over to a pair of curtains and pulled them apart to reveal a balcony. I pushed open the sliding door, buttered toast in one hand as heat ran through my body from the mid-morning sun, and I looked down to see Erwin, heaving an ax as he chopped and split wood for the coming winter, and I knew he’d been up for a long, long,  _ long  _ while, and wouldn’t return to the bedroom until later that night.

I leaned on the railing, munching on my breakfast as I gazed down at him in silence. He lifted his ax once more and struck a log of wood clean in half. He set both pieces in a pile with the others before lifting yet another log onto the block and he took a deep breath, allowing his sweat to drip and fall off of the edge of his nose, and chin, and jaw before swinging his ax with a precise strength and pressure, and I watched as he dampened his shirt with more and more perspiration.  He heaved his ax over and over again, continuing to chop and cut and butcher the wood while the pile of split wood grew as it seemed he'd gotten in some sort of rhythm but, a grunt never left him. It was hard work, that much I could tell but, I had an idea. I scurried to the kitchen, and being that Erwin had built himself a ranch I didn’t have to worry about staircases as everything was on one floor. I retrieved a glass from the cabinet, wandering over to the fridge and opening it to discover a glass pitcher full of what looked to be lemonade, and I poured some into the glass. I hurried over the front door with the glass, sliding my feet into his pair of slippers before stepping out, and onto the porch, and within an instant, his eyes met mine, and we smiled a good-morning smile.

He stuck the ax in the block, wiping the sweat from his face with a swift motion of his hand before brushing the wood debris off of his clothes, and making his way over to me. I sat down on the porch steps, and it didn’t take him long to join me, and sit beside me. I handed him his glass of lemonade, watched as tilted his head back to drink it, and as he finished, I pressed the piece of toast against his lips, and allowed him a bite, which he took without question. I laughed as I fed him, I’d already eaten half of it and so, it was only fair that I gave him the rest. His hands were dirty, so he couldn’t feed himself properly, and yet, he took the tip of my finger into his mouth, and sucked the butter off of it, and I only hummed. He winked at me as he chewed, and even now, I found that he winked at me a lot, but as he swallowed, he gave me a gentle nudge with his elbow, and as he stood up to finish what he began, I knew that he was telling me that it was time to get dressed, and that we had work to do, and though I was sore from yesterday, I didn’t hesitate to run back to the stream where my clothes were drying and throw them back on.

We did the usual things; plucked weeds, fed chickens, milked cows, laid out some more hay for the cows, filled water troughs, brushed horses, changed their horseshoes too, harvested fruits and vegetables, planted a few more fruits and vegetables, nourished the soil with manure, which Erwin did, because I nearly threw up, again, but, this time, before we bathed in the stream, Erwin gave me my own plot in the backyard of his home where I could plant my own things. I made sure he knew that I didn’t want him to help me, and that I wouldn’t want him to help me. Besides, I got used to the whole farming thing, and I wanted to grow my own herbs for tea as everything tasted better knowing that you grew it, took care of it, and made it, and before long, the flight that I was supposed to take back home went on without me, and I couldn’t care less.

I stood, stood here, stood on the ranch, on the farm, in Germany, with Erwin. 

The day I left to go to the airport and waved goodbye was the same day I returned to him hours later and ran into his embrace with sobbing eyes and a weeping heart and that day was the same night that he and I made love.

I nearly left him, that day. I nearly left him and if it weren’t for the apple stem that I slid into my jacket pocket months ago that I had only found just before I was about to board the plane, I would’ve left him. He didn’t want me to leave. He didn’t want me to leave, or think about leaving, and being that I couldn’t speak German and that he couldn’t speak any of the languages that I did, the only way he could express the fear of me not being beside him, the sheer amount of space that I held in his heart, and the way that I made him feel day in and day out, was through his body.

Winter was upon us, but I don’t remember feeling cold for even a second. I could feel his arms around my body, his hips between my legs, his breath against my ear and his chest against my own and I held onto him, pressing my fingertips into the skin of his back as he etched the feeling of love and belonging into my body, and I became putty in his hands. He gave all of himself to me and I, him, and I promised to never leave him, and he promised to never leave me, with every spark or pleasure, every ounce of satisfaction, and every atom of our beings.

I’m writing this because this will be my last blog, and entry, for a good amount of time. I’m writing this because people ask me how I learn languages so fast, how I remember each word so vividly, how my way of learning a language really, truly is the best way of doing so but, truthfully, I never learned German. I haven’t learned a new word, or phrase, but I’ve learned Erwin, and I want to live the rest of my life with him the same way I am now. There’s no such thing as a language barrier. If two people want to communicate, they’ll find out how, just as Erwin and I have because where there's a will, there's a way. It’s been over a year and Erwin hasn’t said anything to me. Erwin hasn’t spoken to me. He hasn’t uttered even the slightest chunk of a word in my direction. He doesn’t have to waste his breath when it comes it me because he doesn’t need to. I know him, and he knows me, we understand each other fully, without mistakes, without inconsistencies, without errors, without fail.

Erwin is my favorite language, and I am most proud of mastering him.


End file.
